


Prodigious

by Lady_Clara



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Prejudice, Character Study, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Shipping isn't the main focus but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Clara/pseuds/Lady_Clara
Summary: As the years progress, Dedue begins to embrace the tall stature he once resented.(Spans the Academy phase, war phase, and post-canon for the Azure Moon route.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57





	Prodigious

As a student at the Officers Academy, Dedue despises his height.

His heart had plummeted when he discovered he was not only the tallest student at Garreg Mach Monastery but the tallest person on campus, towering over everyone from teachers to guards to clergymen.

His height only adds to the difficulties that come with being a man of Duscur. Whispers had followed him everywhere he went when he first arrived in Fhirdiad after the Tragedy. The large growth spurt he had a year before enrolling in the Academy made his presence even more conspicuous and therefore easier to single out. Only when he was with the prince of Faerghus did the mumbled ridiculing diminish. His Highness had made his stance very clear that no one was to speak ill of Dedue or the innocents of Duscur who had nothing to do with the bloodshed; however, if he found himself alone and the prince was not there to witness it, the disdain-laden whispers resurged.

Moving to Garreg Mach hasn’t made much of a difference. Word of the Tragedy and the ensuing destabilization of the Kingdom traveled far, leaving many across Fódlan fearful of Duscur. The biggest change is that now he is tasked with separating which stares originate from contempt and which ones originate from surprise at his tall stature.

Though neither type of stare is wanted, surprise is the less unwelcome of the two. The pink-haired girl from the Golden Deer – someone significantly smaller than Dedue – had stopped dead in her tracks when he walked by her on his way to the greenhouse the other day, craning her neck up and staring at him with wide eyes. That had been surprise, luckily, and she looked amused rather than scornful. It was also surprise when the blue-haired axe wielder from the Black Eagles dropped his jaw when Dedue entered the training grounds. Dedue released the breath he had been holding in both times once he assessed that their gazes had no vitriol behind them. Then there are others whose eyes cast multiple layers of contempt towards him any time he is in their vicinity. Those glares have caused Dedue to develop a despondence within himself that slowly bubbles into self-loathing.

He desperately wills himself to appear as unobtrusive as possible, hunching in his shoulders, even doing his best to make his footfalls lighter. But the staring does not cease.

It gives him the tiniest bit of comfort to know his height helps in some areas. At the library with his classmate Annette, coincidentally the shortest member of the Blue Lions, he takes a book off the highest shelf and puts it down between them at the desk they’re sharing for a study session.

“Thank you!” she says with her usual jollity. “I’m so envious of how tall you are. I would need _two_ footstools if I wanted to reach that shelf on my own.”

Dedue does not think his height is enviable at all. “Most people are fearful of my stature,” he replies. _Fearful of me._

“Fearful?!” she exclaims. “No way, your height is awesome! Being as tiny as I am has so many drawbacks. Sometimes it feels like I just disappear in a crowd.” She picks up the thick tome and balances it on her head. “I’d give anything to be taller.”

Dedue would give anything to be able to disappear in a crowd.

She takes the book off her head and winks at him. “If it was possible, I’d trade places with ya.”

He feels ashamed that his immediate reaction is to think he would gladly make the switch.

“You’re like those tall knights in Faerghus’s famous storybooks,” she continues while flipping through the pages of the tome until she lands on the one needed for their studies. “I think you would like the one about the tallest knight in all the land. Some felt intimidated by him, but the princess he swore to protect adored him. They rode into battle together, where he shielded the princess from a deadly attack.” Annette throws her arms out in front of Dedue as if blocking an attack aimed at him. “Unfortunately, he sustained some bad injuries from it. The princess stayed at his bedside while he was recovering, and over time they fell in love, and even though it broke with tradition seeing as how she was a royal and he was a knight and all, they got married and it was really cute!”

“…I see.” Dedue does not think he can be compared to a storybook knight, but he does understand the actions of the knight in the tale as he too would do anything to shield the one he swore to protect. He himself may hate his tall and wide features, but if the width of his shoulders and the length of his limbs would somehow benefit His Highness in battle, he would use them to their full extent.

Off the battlefield, however, he tries his hardest to mitigate his size and go through life unnoticed.

* * *

When they are in the midst of war, Dedue develops mixed feelings about his height.

Being the tallest person on the battlefield makes him an easy target. It also makes him a recognizable one, especially with the litany of scars that now mark his face. He overhears Cornelia inform her soldiers that defeating him would weaken His Highness’s morale more than anything else. Dedue does not think he is that essential of a component to the prince’s resolve, but her statement makes him think back to the time he broke His Highness out of imprisonment. The prince had cried, frantically reaching out his hands towards Dedue, screaming that he refused to leave him, as their allies dragged him to safety while Dedue stayed behind.

He shakes the memory away. The middle of a battle to reclaim the Kingdom capital from Imperial forces is not the time to reflect on the past. If they emerge victorious today, His Highness officially will be crowned king, meaning they will be one step closer to having the resources necessary to aid in Duscur’s restoration.

They cannot afford to lose.

It is when they are surrounded by powerful Titanus monsters that Dedue realizes the major advantage his height gives him. He spots one readying an attack aimed at His Highness, whose attention is centered on a group of archers to his left. With one eye gone, his ability to see the full battlefield has diminished.

Dedue jumps in front of him and covers him with his shield right in time to defend him from the worst of the Titanus attack, but its sword cuts through Dedue’s armor and leaves him injured. It hurts, but he uses what strength he can to broaden himself as much as possible to cover His Highness.

“Dedue! No!”

 _I should not be garnering this much of your attention,_ Dedue thinks, putting all of his muscle into keeping his shield locked in place even as searing pain envelops him. _If my hateful stature can be useful for one thing, let it be saving your life so that you may ascend the throne and restore peace to Duscur and peace within yourself._

His Highness is too distracted evaluating Dedue’s wounds to notice a mage appearing out of thin air behind him. Dedue tries to warn him, but his shield does little to block the ensuing dark magic attack. His Highness falls to the ground.

Dedue’s vision blurs in and out. As his eyes begin to shut, he feels someone scoop him up in their arms and run.

When he comes to, he is propped up against a wall some distance away from the din of battle. He does not see anyone else around him save for a very concerned prince crouching at his side.

He remembers the pair of arms that brought him here. They could only belong to one man. “You were the one who carried me to safety,” he states. Then he remembers the mage’s attack and panics, leaning forward despite the pain it brings him and surveying His Highness for injuries. “You must be wounded.”

His Highness takes hold of Dedue’s shoulders and carefully leans him back against the wall. “I am fine,” he assures him. “Mercedes knows our location. She is coming to heal us.” He fumbles through a small bag and pulls out a bottle of liquid. “She gave me this elixir to use in the meantime. It can dull any ache you’re feeling while we wait for her arrival. Here.” He reaches out his arm to hand it to Dedue, but winces in what looks like sudden pain and drops the bottle.

“Your Highness!” Without thinking, Dedue drags him into his lap to hold him back from straining himself further. “You must rest until Mercedes comes.”

There is no struggle. His Highness allows Dedue to hold him in place, either because he’s too injured to push back or because he trusts Dedue’s judgment. Dedue hopes it is the latter.

For a few moments, all that is audible is a faint clanging of swords. His Highness must have brought him quite a far distance to safety for the clash of metal on metal to sound so weak. Dedue imagines how much effort it must have taken the man – himself wounded by a dark magic attack – to carry someone of Dedue’s tall and broad build _and_ his heavy shield here. He feels guilty for it. In such a pivotal battle, why would the prince, who is so close to kinghood, put his own life on the line to make sure Dedue stayed alive when it was supposed to be the other way around?

“Thank you for protecting me.”

His Highness’s voice drags him out from underneath his racing thoughts.

“But remember, Dedue,” he goes on. “I told you at the Great Bridge of Myrddin not to throw your life away for me ever again.”

Dedue remembers, though it is ironic His Highness should remind him. Did he not risk his life for Dedue a minute ago?

Besides, Dedue does not see protecting His Highness as throwing his life away. He sees saving His Highness’s life as saving his own.

“I will not stand idle and let harm befall you,” he finally replies.

The look of sincerity His Highness casts his way makes Dedue’s heart lurch. “The greatest harm of all would be to lose you, Dedue.”

It’s a stunning admission that heals Dedue more than any elixir ever could.

“I won’t die just yet,” His Highness continues before Dedue can think of a proper response, though he’s not sure there even is one. “I promised you I would help Duscur thrive again. I promised the dead I would avenge them so they may finally rest in peace. I must live long enough to uphold those promises.”

Dedue’s injury causes him to start fading in and out, but he tries with all his might to cling to every word His Highness is saying. He holds him closer, cradling his head in his hand to prevent it from lolling uncomfortably while they wait. If either of them pass out before Mercedes arrives, he wants to have as protective of a hold on him as he can in case any enemies find them first.

His Highness flattens his hand on the top of his own head, moving it straight across until it lands near Dedue’s temple.

“I grew taller in those five years we were separated,” he states. “I have almost caught up to you. I will never be as broad of shoulder, however.”

His Highness has only ever spoken of Dedue and his height with reverence, never scorn. 

Why can’t Dedue look upon himself with reverence, too?

“Do not envy me. My severe height and breadth are only useful for protecting you in battle.”

His Highness jerks his head up at that and removes his hand from Dedue's temple, looking at him with confusion. “You do not truly believe that, do you? Something doesn’t need to be useful like that in order for it to be appreciated.” He brings his hand to Dedue’s pauldron next and moves it back and forth. There may be layers of reinforced metal between them, but Dedue still feels his skin light up at the contact. “I admire your height and your broad shoulders simply because they are part of you, as is your gentle nature, and your cooking prowess, and your extensive knowledge of botany, and your compassion…” He shifts a bit. “And how nice it feels to be held in your arms like this.” He smiles softly, but with so much brightness Dedue feels like he’s looking into the sun. “There are a million qualities that make up who you are. I cherish all of them.”

That hits somewhere deep. Dedue begins to wonder if his prodigious frame is not a curse, but rather a blessing. It is a part of himself like all the other qualities His Highness mentioned, and he shouldn’t be ashamed of any of them. He shouldn’t hate any aspect of his being.

“Dedue…” The prince’s voice has gotten much quieter. “When we are successful in taking back the capital, the castle will one day house us again. Tell me – what would you want to add to it to make it feel more like home?”

It’s a strange question. Thinking about domestic life doesn’t seem like an acceptable thing to do while they’re still technically in the middle of a battle.

“…I cannot answer that until we end this war,” Dedue responds, though his mind is telling him _I cannot think of something so selfish._

His Highness reaches up and touches Dedue’s cheek with his hand. It freezes him in place. The touch is nothing but gentle, though Dedue knows how powerful that hand can be, especially when it’s covered in protective armor like it is now. “Please. It would help me to hear your thoughts on the matter so that I may envision it as part of our peaceful future.”

 _Our_ peaceful future, he said. It’s impossible for Dedue to convince himself that his presence is not wanted when His Highness and their friends constantly remind him that his company is sought after and appreciated. Many times he has expressed the old concern that his (overly conspicuous) presence will hurt the prince’s political position, but he is finally allowing himself to acknowledge that His Highness wants to be in Dedue’s life as much as Dedue wants to be in his. Slowly, the lingering hatred he felt towards his appearance begins to dissolve more and more.

He still needs to give His Highness an answer, so he goes with the first thing that pops into his head. “A grove of fruit trees next to the greenhouse.” Silently, he goes through a mental catalog of all of the trees he knows about and selects which varieties he would plant based on when they bear fruit so at least one type would be ready for harvest every time the seasons rotate. He imagines walking down the grove, walking into the greenhouse, walking through the halls of the castle without trying to hide or make himself smaller. He needs to understand that he deserves a happy, peaceful future like that.

His Highness hums contentedly. “I can picture it. It would be lovely. We could pick fruit together.”

 _You will have little room for leisurely activities like that when you become king,_ Dedue thinks. _I am honored you would want to spend such precious time with me._ Now that His Highness has planted the seed in his head, he can’t help but picture the two of them spending time together in a fruit grove, sitting under the shade of an apple tree when the king needs peace and quiet after a stressful day, helping children pick fruit that is too high up to reach. He stops himself before his visions get too elaborate.

He puts his own armor-clad hand over the prince’s still resting on his cheek and holds it as tenderly as he can. He is surprised he feels bold enough to do it, but it makes His Highness smile.

He makes a silent vow to himself that from now on, he will walk tall and embrace all the parts that make up his whole. Whispers will not bring him down.

Not long after, Mercedes shows up to heal them. They thank her, and back to the battle they go.

* * *

In the new post-war era of peace, Dedue fully embraces his height.

“The one on the left appears to be ripe.” With one hand, he points to an apple on a tree in Fhirdiad’s fruit grove; with the other, he secures his hold on the child hoisted onto his shoulders.

“Okay!” His adopted son reaches out his small hands and yanks the apple off the tree. “I did it!”

“Very good,” Dedue replies. “Now drop it into the pail your sister is holding. _Gently_.”

Next to them, his adopted daughter holds up a metal pail while wearing an impatient pout. “I want you to lift me up again, Papa. I can see the whole world from up there!”

It fills Dedue with joy to hear her say that. “It’s your brother’s turn now,” he says warmly as he crouches down so his son can place the apple into the pail. “Your new task is to keep track of how many apples we have in total. It is just as important a task as picking them.”

That seems to brighten her spirits a bit. She dumps the contents of the pail into the larger wooden bucket growing heavier by the minute with all the apples they’ve managed to collect so far.

Dedue slowly stands up to full height again. His son grabs onto fistfuls of hair to anchor himself. “Whee! Papa’s so tall!” he shouts in joy.

“He is,” comes a voice from behind them. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Dedue turns around and sees Dimitri approaching, bringing an instant smile to his face. The king had promised he would come straight to the fruit grove once his meeting ended. His husband has always been a man of his word.

“Dada!” Their daughter abandons the pail and runs to Dimitri, jumping into his open arms. “Guess what. When I was up on Papa’s shoulders, I picked an apple from the _tallest_ branch!”

Dimitri’s eye widens. “Goodness, the tallest branch? You’re getting quite tall yourself, princess.”

“Will I be as tall as Papa someday?” she asks, her tone clearly indicating that she wants to be.

Dimitri looks over at Dedue and smiles with all the love in his gaze. That look still turns Dedue’s heart into a beating frenzy even though they’ve been married for years.

“Perhaps,” Dimitri answers. “Only time will tell.”

“Dada, are _you_ going to be as tall as Papa someday?” their son asks from Dedue’s shoulders.

Dimitri laughs softly. “No, I don’t believe I will be,” he answers. “But I suppose I can live with that. In my current stature, I am at the perfect height for your Papa to kiss me on the forehead whenever he so desires.”

Dedue can feel their son squirm from atop his shoulders. “Ewww, romance!” he cries.

To think that his family loves and respects him, his remarkably tall stature included, makes Dedue want to sweep them all up into a hug and cry tears of joy.

“Dada,” their daughter says, and Dedue recognizes _that_ tone as one where she’s about to ask Dimitri something he won’t have it in his heart to refuse. “Can you hold me up so I can pick one more apple? Pleeease?”

“Hmm.” Dimitri looks over at Dedue. “My cherished, has our sweet daughter been behaving herself this afternoon?”

Dedue nods. “Yes, as always.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Dimitri says, turning his attention back to the child in his arms. “You know I am incapable of denying you any request.”

“I _do_ know that,” she says with a giggle.

When they’re finished, the two young children lean over the bucket with pleased expressions.

“Look at how many we got!” their son exclaims.

Dedue peers into it and nods. “You did exceptional work. We will be able to bake many goods from this harvest.”

“It’s because you’re so tall that we were able to get all the apples that were really high up, Papa,” their daughter comments.

Dedue supposes that’s true. He rolls his shoulders back reflexively, no longer aiming to shrink the breadth he knows they convey.

“Imagine how happy the children of Faerghus will be when we deliver freshly baked goods to them tomorrow,” Dimitri adds. “Shall we begin our cooking? I stopped by the kitchens before I joined you, and they’re still available for use.”

Both children nod enthusiastically and attempt to lift the bucket off the ground to no avail. With the plethora of apples they collected, it probably weighs more than both of them.

“The four of us will work together to carry it,” Dedue suggests.

“Precisely,” Dimitri agrees. “Papa and I can each carry one of you in our arms, and then you’ll lend us your strength so he and I can grab the handles and lift the bucket.”

“Yeah!” both kids shout in unison. Their daughter jumps back into the crook of Dimitri’s elbow, and Dedue lifts their son into a matching one-armed hold.

“All right,” Dimitri says. “We’ll need you two to think strong thoughts. Ready?”

“Ready!”

Dimitri nods at Dedue before bending down and pretending the bucket is too heavy to lift. Dedue knows for a fact Dimitri could probably carry the whole thing on his own with nothing more than a finger.

“You can do it!” their son cries.

“Strength! Strength!” their daughter chants.

Dedue plays along and grabs the other end of the handle, making a labored expression for show. After a few seconds, he gives Dimitri the signal, and the two lift it up to the sounds of their children cheering. He presses a celebratory kiss to his husband’s forehead – after all, he’s at the perfect height to do so, just like Dimitri said he was.

As they walk back to the castle, his son snuggles his head against Dedue’s chest. “I love tall Papa.”

He says it with such ease and with such honesty it is almost disconcerting. It took Dedue many years to learn to love himself and many more to learn to love his stature, but his children have loved him for everything he is since the day he and Dimitri adopted them. That will never stop warming his heart.

He gently rests his head on the top of his child’s and broadens his shoulders, taking a deep breath in and out. He no longer feels the need to hunch over or make himself look small. He has come to appreciate his height, not because it is sometimes beneficial to others, but because it is a part of him, and he has learned to embrace every part of himself that makes up the whole.

He stands tall.


End file.
